


And Wonders of Her Love

by Bronte



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Adrien Agreste Knows, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Churches & Cathedrals, F/M, Fluff, Identity Reveal, Ladrien | Adrien Agreste/Marinette Dupain-Cheng as Ladybug, One Shot, Romance, Singing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:15:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21905818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bronte/pseuds/Bronte
Summary: Adrien’s voice sounds like angels calling from on high, beseeching every heavenly spirit in Paris to listen to his glorious hymn and god, Ladybug feels like she’s floating or flying or something because she’s never in her life felt love like this before, genuine and unadulterated, consummate and pure.A Christmas Story.
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug
Comments: 27
Kudos: 153





	And Wonders of Her Love

**Author's Note:**

> 🎄Merry Christmas everyone!🎄 I wanted to create a Christmas gift to my friends as well as all of the people who have shown me kindness this year. This one’s for you.
> 
> To lalunaoscura and Yamina20 for being my closest fandom friends. You two are my rocks and I always look forward to chatting with you everyday as well as hopefully meeting you in person very soon!
> 
> To Lotusorder for becoming one of my newest friends and biggest supporter. To DragonInTheCloud, SunnyWet and chatonne-rousse for being incredibly supportive of my writing as well.
> 
> I’m sure I missed a few of you but I just want you to know that if you have reached out to me this year, whether through Discord, Tumblr, AO3 or Ko-Fi, I recognize your name and your words made me smile. You are wonderful, you are kind and I’m thinking of you this Christmas.
> 
> Please enjoy!
> 
> 💋Bronte

It might just be a quick jaunt across the Seine to the 1ère arrondissement on Christmas Eve but Ladybug can hardly keep it together, the festive spirit of the evening at odds with the nervous butterflies dancing in her stomach. _Maybe_ she’s gone a bit overboard. _Maybe_ she is as creepily obsessed with Adrien as Alya (and Juleka and Rose and Alix and Mylène) have all repeatedly told her she is. 

_Maybe_ she’s gone a little too far.

Ladybug lands on the giant, six thousand kilo abstract sculpture of a head resting on a hand outside of _l’Église St-Eustache_ and wonders if it’s trying to tell her something. Should she have stayed at home and eaten enormous amounts of food watching Christmas films with Maman and Papa? Should she have not totally lied to their faces and called it a night just so she could sneak out as Ladybug and see the love of her life perform at Midnight Mass?

 _L’Écoute_ , for all of his sculptural sandstone wisdom, doesn’t provide her with any answers.

“Well, I’m here now…” Ladybug murmurs to herself, shrugging her shoulders. She’s allowed to be selfish sometimes, as she’s come to learn; being the Guardian, a brand new l _ycéenne_ and Paris' number one heroine superhero afforded her the responsibility of having way too much to do and not enough time to do it in, especially when it came to self care. A weekly bubble bath was about all she could manage most of the time, and even then, she was usually interrupted by akuma attacks or emergency babysitting duty.

Still uncertain, Ladybug hums to the tune of her inner monologue and launches herself up into the adorned trees around the gorgeous French Gothic cathedral in order to dodge a large group of parishioners making their way from the Métro towards the southern facade. It’s beautiful and familiar, classic and modern, and although she’s not even remotely religious, she still feels…

...well, she’s not sure how she feels, exactly. Not yet anyway.

She only knows a little about the history and patrimony of the stone cathedral from what she’s read on Wikipedia, but when people refer to it as the daughter of _Notre-Dame de Paris_ , they aren’t kidding. Imposingly tall and flanked with flying buttresses and everything else you’d come to expect from a Gothic style building, _l’Église St-Eustache_ towers across the Parisian skyline, surrounded with age-old parks brimming with festively decorated trees and gardens. Ladybug glances up at the gorgeous rosace window and shivers against the winter wind, although she’s not entirely sure her goosebumps have anything to do with the weather. The intricately stained glass orioles and the heavenward columns of limestone rival only that of the heart of Paris herself.

And, of course, _Notre-Dame de Paris_ wouldn’t be holding any masses anytime soon.

Which is why she’s about to covertly sneak into a church that’s been serving many of _Notre-Dame de Paris’_ parish since the tragedy.

“For Adrien,” she tells the tree she’s still perched within, narrowly avoiding a group of revelers as they hold hands and warm up their voices in the chill, “No one has ever heard Adrien sing before, and I’m gonna be the first.” 

Adrien had been talking about it all week leading up to the Christmas holidays, his eyes lighting up with excitement each time the topic was brought up in conversation. Marinette, for all her knowledge on the model, had no idea he was so passionate about singing, let alone performing during Midnight Mass for the very first time.

“It’s such a huge honour,” Adrien had gushed during first period on the final Friday before their blissful two week vacation, “I never thought they would ask _me_ , of all people, to accompany the choir! I wasn’t even a parishioner of _l’Église St-Eustache_ until…” he’d trailed off, his expression tightening, “Well, it doesn’t matter. I was just surprised at the offer since Father rarely takes me to church anymore.”

“We don’t go to church anymore either, except for weddings and funerals,” Alya inclined her head, twirling her pencil between her fingers, “But we always go to Midnight Mass. It’s kind of a big deal.”

“Agreed,” Adrien drummed the rhythm of his latest piano solo against his knees, a constant sound since he’d been given the news, “We used to go every year, but I missed it last year and...well, you guys all remember what happened.”

Marinette nodded her head along with the rest of them, her attention glued to his sparkling eyes and rosy cheeks, “Making sure you were safe was more important.”

Adrien’s grin seemed to triple in size as his focus turned to her, “Thank you Marinette!”

Her temperature rocketed skyward and Marinette had only managed to duck her head and mumble out a garbled response of thanks. She’d watched him raise a brow at her, much to her horror, and continue on only once Alya had assured him she was choking on an almond.

“Anyway, ever since April, I’ve been trying to convince Father to take me to _l’Église St-Eustache_ , which is where a lot of other people have been going since the fire. Nathalie brought me to mass for Easter but I haven’t been there since, except for when I snuck out in November to go and listen to the choir practice. I’d needed some inspiration for my latest piano composition and when I was younger, I always felt so much more creative after spending some time listening to the organ play in a place with such amazing acoustics and...anyway, Father was furious with me when he found out I had snuck out but when Père de Rocher approached him and told him how passionate I am about music, Father had no choice but to give in and let me go a little more often.”

“Someone actually put your dad in his place?” Nino asked, looking surprisingly impressed, “Dude, please tell me you got a video.”

Adrien laughed, “He’s not _that_ bad, Nino, and no. I still don’t think Father is happy that Père de Rocher came to my defense but Father can’t exactly say no to the church, especially after pledging to donate so much to _Notre-Dame de Paris_ ,” Adrien sighed, a familiar dreamy look falling over his features, “Anyway, that’s when Père de Rocher offered to let me practice with the choir! He even told Father that I could sing with them during Midnight Mass! I can’t wait to be around all those people again, you know? It’s going to be so amazing guys, I’m so excited!”

It had struck her as odd, that little comment, especially once she was walking back home from school. Adrien was around people all the time, so why was he so excited to be around more people at church? She’d never heard him talk about religion or being religious until recently; she hadn’t even known he was a practicing Catholic!

“Sometimes, it’s more about being a part of a community than anything else,” Tikki mentioned as Marinette stewed over it, sewing together the latest Christmas present on her to-do list, “And you know how much time Adrien spends at home all by himself. It must be a nice change to practice his music with other like-minded people.”

Marinette nodded her head, “That makes sense. Maybe practicing in a group will help him improve!”

“That’s the spirit!” Tikki giggled, sliding a golden thread through Marinette’s needle, “And just look how happy he’s been lately! Have you ever seen him so excited about something before?”

She couldn’t help the smile that spread across her lips, her heart skipping a beat as she relived the last two weeks in her mind’s eye, “He’s even more radiant and dreamy than ever, Tikki. He’s _perfect_.”

Which is how she ends up precariously balanced in between two ribs in the vaults of the nave in _l’Église St-Eustache_ at 23h on Christmas Eve, carefully perched beside a stone column for support. The shadows thrown from the thousands of candles along the cathedral’s aisles keep her hidden from prying eyes while basking the rest of the church in golden light, illuminating the hundreds of people below her awaiting the music of Christmas with bated breath. 

The first striking chords reverberating from the organ draws her attention towards the choir, the resonance of the music sending shivers down her spine. She can hear every tone up here within the rounded arches, the harmonies of each and every note floating weightlessly amidst the ancient acoustics and Ladybug doesn’t have to wait a moment longer to understand why people go out of their way to come to the cathedral with their families so late on such a special night. Enraptured, Ladybug can do nothing but hold on and watch in awe as _Messiaen's Dieu parmi nous_ cascades from the imposing organ and all its many pipes, somehow supported by a gallery of hand carved Corinthian columns decorated with garlands of flowers and fruits. 

Her eyes travel along the ornate balustrade that seems to hold the instrument together, the sculpted wood effortlessly following the pierced stone contours of the cathedral itself. She quickly discovers that this incredible organ is the beating heart of the ancient, gilded building, the walls and arcade built in tandem to support the imposing instrument that brings the worshipers below to their knees.

As the last notes dwindle into silence, the prayers begin. Ladybug is neither religious nor spiritual when it comes to anything beyond the creatures that inhabit the bits of jewelry hiding in her bedroom, but even she can feel the effect the homily has on the people as the Father speaks below her, imparting the story of Jesus, among others. His voice echoes around her ears and soothes her nerves as she turns her focus back to the choir, her eyes scouring the rows of people for a familiar coif of blond hair. She thinks she spots him, although she can’t be sure from where she’s hiding, and moving any closer right now would only attract everyone’s attention to her, blowing her cover.

_« Joie au ciel ! Exulte la terre ! Alléluia ! »_

Ladybug’s eyes are drawn back to the priest as he raises his palms and calls upon a hallelujah, exulting a cry from the worshipers entranced in mass, and Ladybug breathes a sigh of relief as the tension is broken and the music begins anew. There’s been such a buildup that she can hardly wait any longer, goosebumps prickling her skin beneath her suit in the fervour of it all. 

The choir begins the familiar verses of Charpentier’s _Venez, divin messie_ and even Ladybug knows the words to this one, the youthful, boyish voices of the ensemble reaching harmonies Ladybug has never heard before. And the way the organ seems to build ever so slowly, its notes rising heavenward with every sweep of the organist’s fingers, is beyond what Ladybug has ever experienced. Their words seem to hang between the sheathes of candlelight like errant wisps of voices past, their echoes undulating amidst the masonry, glancing off the staves and up, up into the rafters. It’s beautiful and leaves her breathless as every voice save her own joins in with the choir, together singing as one.

[ [listen along here] ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r1ubueuQI1E)

It’s a dizzying display of revelry as they pass from one song to the next and Ladybug can hardly keep her heart from leaping out of her chest as one boy finally steps forward before the rest, pressing his hands to his chest. He fiddles with his smock for a moment and even from afar, Ladybug can tell that it’s him. It has to be him, his nervous ticks made perfectly obvious as the organist prepares for the next song. She can see his shoulders moving as he takes several deep breaths and Ladybug finds that she starts to breathe with him, silently willing him on as the choir unleashes an otherworldly chord so transcendent that Ladybug almost loses her grip.

And then he begins to sing.

_« Veni, veni Emmanuel / Captivum solve Israel… »_

She’s not sure what drops first, her jaw or her entire body as she loses focus and plummets a metre downwards towards the parish below. She catches herself before she squashes anyone, if only barely, and scrabbles back up into the nave to listen to the hauntingly ethereal chorus that enraptures every soul within the cavernous cathedral with soaring clarity, his melody soaring passed the ribbed vaults into the stars.

He looks _beautiful._

She can see the emotions on his features from here, his eyes nearly brimming with tears as the choir builds and builds behind him like a tidal wave of unprecedented delicacy, and Ladybug truly feels a sense of the miraculous now. Adrien’s voice sounds like angels calling from on high, beseeching every heavenly spirit in Paris to listen to his glorious hymn and _god_ , Ladybug feels like she’s floating or flying or _something_ because she’s never in her life felt love like this before, genuine and unadulterated, consummate and pure. She _loves_ him even more desperately, swallowing against the swell of emotion in her throat; she wants to sing with him and cry out to anyone who will hearken to her adoration, but stays silent if only to keep listening to him.

Adrien presses his hands to his heart again and raises his chin, hitting a note so heavenly that Ladybug loses time for a moment. The entire parish seems to hold their breath as the climax of the song takes hold of them, frozen as the choir raises their final harmonies over the precipice. The inflection lingers, ascending into the nave and beyond like a benediction, and wanes peacefully into silence.

Ladybug takes a harried, exulted breath, and the entire bethel seems to exhale all at once.

“Having faith is more than just coming to church and kneeling for prayer,” the priest begins after a pregnant moment of reflection, and Ladybug hangs on his every word, “Having faith is having love in your heart and spreading that love as far as you can. Having faith is to love, as to love is to devote your life to those you care for deeply. That is what we are here tonight to experience. We are here to share our love for one another.”

“That is what’s important now. In an age where material things tend to dominate our lives, it is within us and up to us to look beyond those who tempt us with trivialities. There is no gain without compassion, and to forget that is to forget our true nature. Together, we can make a difference. Together, we can all be here to celebrate something we share.”

“It’s miraculous to me that so many kinds of people from so many walks of life can all come together without anger, without strife. When love is in our hearts, different perspectives, different cultures, differences among us no longer matter. Everyone is capable of love, even those who seem to hold it against us. We won’t let the monsters, both physical and deistic, push our love from our hearts.”

“Tonight, let us all come together. Tonight, on this holiest of nights, let us join our voices in harmony!”

Her head feels clearer than it has in days as the organ leads the worshipers through the final song of the evening and Ladybug now understands why Adrien’s eyes lit up every time he mentioned singing here tonight. It’s the sense of community he feels, like he’s part of something bigger than himself, and it warms her heart to know that he’s managed to find a place where he can express himself without being pulled away from it. She knows that his father holds the threat of leaving school over his head like a guillotine and the love in her heart aches at the thought of it, but of course, tonight is not about her. It’s about him and the love all around that she feels like a blanket, soft and warm and beautiful as the choir cries from below.

_« Minuit ! Chrétiens, c’est l’heure solennelle / Où l’homme Dieu descendit jusqu’à nous… »_

“I love you,” she whispers, blowing a kiss towards the golden crown of his head. She sneaks out of the nave just as the clock strikes midnight, exultations rolling through the aisles and into the night beyond. The bells follow her along the Seine, crisp and joyous from their perch in the steeple, and Ladybug can hear all of Paris crying out in celebration as Christmas finally arrives.

_« Noël, Noël, voici notre Rédempteur ! »_

~

Marinette awakens on Christmas morning and feels the weight of the world on her shoulders lessened, if only a little. The akumas, the homework, the early Saturday morning shifts at the bakery would all still be there once the holidays are over, but there's something new about the sunlight pouring in through her windows, flooding her bedroom with sparkles of colour from the ornaments on her mini Christmas tree. 

She still can't quite put her finger on how she feels, but it's a good feeling. It's like waking up after a good night's sleep or running into an old friend you haven't seen in months at the market. It's uplifting, inspiring even, and Marinette plans to carry this new sense of meaning wherever she goes.

Breakfast is wonderful and the presents sitting beneath their Christmas tree are even more so. There's a whole boxful of Italian fabrics from her Nonna and a card stuffed with Euros from her Grand Père, which she plans on depositing into her savings account tomorrow afternoon once the banks are open again. Buzzing with enthusiasm, Marinette can hardly keep herself together as her Papa fishes a heavy package from beneath the tree and deposits it in front of her with a thud, _“Joyeux Noël, ma belle!”_

“What is it?” Marinette rubs her palms together, rocking back and forth on her knees to keep herself from ripping off the paper right then and there, “It looks like a boot box!”

“It’s definitely not boots,” Sabine responds, a wry smile pulling on her lips, “Go on.”

Without further ado, Marinette tears her package apart only to find a plastic storage bin underneath the wrappings. Throwing a confused glance at her parents, she unclips the latches and pulls off the lid to find a set of Copic markers and a stack of thick marker paper for her physical portfolio, which she had been meaning to start for months...but with _these?!_

_"OH MY GOD!"_

Marinette leaps up from the couch cushions and screams with glee, holding the markers aloft, "You bought me—oh my god, you brought me— _aaaaggHhhAAAHHH!_ "

Tom laughs as Sabine gently extricates her overjoyed daughter down from the very top of the couch in the hopes of avoiding a hospital visit, "Do you like them?"

"Do I like them?!" Marinette grabs the twenty-four pack of professional refillable markers and shakes them in a fit of excitement, "Oh my god, Maman, I LOVE them! These are like, the best markers and—oh my god—these are so expensive?! Maman!"

"Money wasn't an issue," Tom assures her, pulling both Marinette and his wife into his arms, "Call it an investment for your future. If you're going to be the next Coco Chanel one day, you're going to need to have the right tools."

Marinette wails incoherently into her father's pectorals, her legs vigorously wriggling out behind her as she tries and fails to contain her emotions. Sabine simply pats her on the head and grins, "Merry Christmas, Marinette."

_"mmmphhhRRRRRT!"_

"What was that, Pumpkin?"

"THANK YOU!!!!"

~

There’s still another three quarters of an hour before she’s needed to help with dinner and Marinette spends every moment of her free time experimenting with her fabulous new set of professional markers, sketching some of her latest and greatest designs. They spring to life as she blends the colours together like watercolours on a canvas, swirls of Ultramarine cascading down the length of her pleated skirt into Prussian blue. She’s never felt so inspired than at this exact moment, her heart filled with happiness at the thought of being able to do something she loves so much through the support of people that love her. She wonders if that’s how Adrien felt last night as he sang his heart out and the thought alone leaves her feeling giddy with an emotion so strong she can barely contain it.

Marinette takes out another piece of the precious thick marker paper and begins to sketch, gently at first, but then with more confidence and gusto. She captures the grandiose scale of the cathedral’s vaults, the elegant curves and vertical arches, the parishioners crowded beneath her at the depth of her perspective, the perfect harmony. She captures the golden blond hair of a boy who is a little taller than the rest, his snow white smock a little brighter than those of the boys around him. She captures his arms clasped to his chest, his chin tipping upwards as if singing to the heavens themselves, and when she holds it up to the light several minutes later, she knows she’s captured every bit of euphoria from that moment in a dizzying display of colours and lights.

She thinks it’s probably the most beautiful thing she’s ever drawn.

It’s _perfect._

~

It’s a spur of the moment kind of thing and once again, doubt comes back to haunt her. Should she _really_ give him this drawing? Should she _really_ be standing outside his darkened bedroom windows at 20h on Christmas Day holding an envelope filled with the best illustration she’s ever made in her life?

 _Maybe_ she’s gone a little too far.

Again.

Just like last night, she finds herself standing on the precipice of a decision that could go horribly wrong if she were to be caught. The snow gently falling from the clouds above don’t provide her with any answers and staring up at the sky doesn't do her any wonders either; she sits down on her haunches and sighs, trapped once again in the confines of her thoughts.

A shimmer of movement from a window below shakes her from her reverie.

Sliding down onto the eaves of the west wing, Ladybug ducks down just low enough to peer inside the cavernous dining room of the Agreste mansion. There isn’t much to see from this perspective, but a quick backflip onto the opposite window ledge quickly changes all of that. Her eyes soak in the tasteful, if minimalist decorations strewn across the enormous food-laden table, except none of it looks to be touched. She delves closer and discovers no one sitting at the table on the side nearest to the door.

“That’s a little odd…” Ladybug muses, grazing once again over the trays and platters of food; most families would be onto their dessert course by now, “I wonder what the hold up is…”

Ladybug’s heart drops out from underneath her.

_Oh no._

It was easy to miss him, what with the way he seems to be slumped behind a prime rib roast at the far end of the table. A familiar bob of coiffed blond hair peeks out, just barely viewable from her perspective and Ladybug remembers blending the brilliant colour with a mixture of lemon yellow and burnt sienna not six hours earlier. It looks just as beautiful here under the harsh glow of the fluorescent lights, except this scene is far from jovial.

Ladybug stands, utterly aghast.

Her decision is made.

“No one should have to eat Christmas dinner alone,” she hisses, swinging back up to his bedroom window in a furor of unconcealed frustration. Christmas is supposed to be about spending time with your family! Christmas is supposed to be about caring for each other! She takes the plastic lid of her black Copic marker between her teeth and pops the broad top pen from its confines, yanking out her drawing with a determination so fierce Ladybug can hardly stand it. Setting it against the mansion’s wall, she writes him a quick message and somersaults inside his bedroom, leaving the envelope tucked just under the pillow on his office chair.

She doesn't remember if she signs her name. 

~

The first day back at school in January starts off as it normally does, with Marinette flying by the seat of her pants just to make it to homeroom on time. She slides into her seat just as the bell chimes and breathes a sigh of relief as her teacher begins the attendance call, just happy to have made it here in the first place. She may be Ladybug, but she isn’t always lucky when it comes to catching the Métro to her new lycée. 

_“Psst.”_

Marinette’s head jerks upwards, still gasping for breath.

_“Psst!”_

She looks from side to side and finds no one looking in her direction. Who was making that sound?

The poke of a pencil in between her shoulder blades quickly solves her mystery.

“Marinette,” Adrien whispers from behind her, grinning from ear to ear, “I never got to thank you.”

Between the blood rushing to her cheeks and the complete and utter stoppage of her heart, Marinette can’t even fathom coming up with an answer. How did Adrien get behind her? Hasn’t he always been seated in the back row beside Ivan for homeroom?!

“I have something for you,” he whispers again, sitting back in his seat just as Mme Boréali glances over the rims of her tortoiseshell glasses, “Open it.”

He slides her an envelope under his desk and Marinette takes it between her numbed fingers, still gaping like a fish. Adrien got her something? What? When? How? And, for good measure, why?

“Go on,” he murmurs under his breath, his green eyes shining with mirth, “You’re gonna love it.”

“Dupain-Cheng! Eyes forward please!”

Marinette jerks around at the sound of her teacher’s voice and promptly apologizes, her eyes still as wide as saucers. The envelope in her palm burns her skin and Marinette desperately aches to open it but finds no opportunity to until some twenty minutes later when they’re pulling their personal copies of Molière’s _Le Tartuffe_ from their backpacks. Shoving the envelope behind her open comedy, Marinette tears open the lip and slides a paper pamphlet from Midnight Mass at _l’Église St-Eustache_ out onto her desk. Quirking an eyebrow, she reads the front title and Adrien’s handwritten note beneath it once, twice, three times and promptly drops her book on the floor.

_Je vous remercie de tout cœur pour le cadeau…_

_...M’Lady ❤️_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you loved it! 
> 
> For now, I plan on taking a little sabbatical to get Bound up and ready to publish at the end of January! Happy New Year and see you then! 
> 
> Please leave a comment if you enjoyed!


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